


Kiss From a Rose

by Plasticgalaxy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hueco Mundo, Kissing, One Shot, Swear Words, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, cursing, grimmhime - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 17:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11902221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plasticgalaxy/pseuds/Plasticgalaxy
Summary: Despite Orihime's annoying questions, Grimmjow finds peace and sanctuary in her presence.





	Kiss From a Rose

**Author's Note:**

> A Grimmjow x Orihime one-shot that I wrote a long time ago and recently decided to rework. Designed to give the warm and fuzzies.

“What does it feel like?”

Grimmjow glared with mild disdain at the orange-haired girl sitting cross-legged opposite him on the floor of the cell. He was convinced that she was too curious for her own good. Sometimes - okay, most of the time - her incessant questioning got on his nerves. Still, he found himself making nearly daily visits to Orihime’s chambers, mostly because the company was far better than any of the other self-absorbed espada or fraccion could provide.

“What?” Grimmjow leaned back on the palms of his hands, tilting his head slightly.

“What does it feel like?” Orihime repeated, pointing at the hole in the middle of Grimmjow’s stomach. She leaned in a little closer, then hesitated. “May I…?” He offered no verbal response save for an indiscernible grunt, and rolled his eyes at her. He maintained his non-threatening demeanor, though. It wasn’t an outright no, and when Grimmjow didn’t say “no,” it usually translated to “tch, whatever,” and meant “yeah, go ahead. I don’t give a shit.” Why was she so interested, anyway? Every hollow had a hole. His wasn’t special.

Orihime scooted closer and tentatively touched Grimmjow’s muscular stomach. The edges of the hollow hole looked sharp, but they were surprisingly fleshy and firm. He lolled his head with contemptful boredom as her small hand ventured further in, touching and probing at the inside of the missing piece. Its walls were smooth and cool to the touch, almost leather-like. God, he was thankful no one cared enough to follow him around or check on Orihime outside of mealtimes. She continued to explore and probe with child-like wonder while he watched her with a slight frown.

“Whadya mean ‘what does it feel like’?” He scratched at the mess of blue hair on his head, and jolted with surprise as she plunged her arm all the way through to his back. Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see her fingers wiggling behind him.  _ Stupid bitch. _ He thought for a moment about vaporizing her with a cero, but then edged back on his predatory instincts. There was something about Orihime that was so different from everyone else in Hueco Mundo. Despite having been imprisoned in this lifeless, lightless purgatory for months, she maintained a warmth and compassion that no amount of abuse from Ulquiorra or Aizen could snuff. And she didn’t care that Grimmjow was a heartless killing machine of a beast whose sole purpose of his miserable existence was to kill and destroy for Aizen.

“Doesn’t it feel like a piece of you is missing?” Satisfied with the extent of her physical findings, Orihime had removed her arm from the hole - much to the relief of Grimmjow’s ever-present annoyance - and folded her hands politely in her lap.

“Ain’t never been any other way,” Grimmjow shrugged nonchalantly. That wasn’t entirely true. There was a time when he was still alive… but it was so long ago, and the memories eluded him. The more he focused on those feelings at the edge of his memory, the more they eluded him. Then, they were gone completely, replaced by a mild headache. He let out an annoyed sigh.

“But what about your intestines? Where do they go?” Orihime leaned forward to peer through the hole. “And your spine, how is it complete?” She knitted her eyebrows in pure perplexion, but it seemed like the more he answered her questions, the less she seemed to understand. This would never end. Leaving her to her own devices wouldn’t work either, because she’d only cook up another plethora of inane questions to ask him the next time he came around. How annoying.

“Intestines?” Grimmjow raised an eyebrow, somewhat disgusted. “Look, I don’t know nothin’ about how our insides work, woman. You’re better off asking Szayel about that shit.” He knew she wouldn’t, but at least it would get her off his back for the time being.

“We don’t have to talk about this anymore,” Orihime said softly, lowering her gaze. Grimmjow was always pretty standoffish, but she was able to tell when he was getting truly irritated. Glancing back at him, she patted gently on her lap. With a huff, he accepted her invitation and reduced himself to a reclining position, resting his head in her lap. He’d never readily admit it, but this was his favorite part of the visits. She had this funny habit of playing with his hair, and as annoying as it was, it felt awfully nice. There was this spot somewhere behind his left ear that when she would hit it just right, his inner beast would purr. It was the closest thing to that stupid emotion of happiness that Grimmjow had ever felt.

“All I know,” he continued, staring up at the blank, vaulted ceiling, “is that when I get cut, I bleed. When I get tired, I rest. When I get hungry, I eat, and no fucking thing ever seems to fill the empty feeling.” Like clockwork, Orihime’s petite hands entangled themselves in GRimmjow’s thick turquoise locks, gently pulling and twirling and combing. The warmth from her fingertips permeated his scalp, and the headache subsided. He felt peaceful. There were a few moments of silence, where he was momentarily spared from Orihime’s eternal wonderment, and he was able to bask in her tender attention, closing his eyelids.

It was only in her presence that his inner beast would slow its restless pacing; sometimes it would even stop and relax a little bit. This was one of those sometimes. The panther was sprawled comfortably out on its back, with its head in the human woman’s lap. Her fingers began to softly massage and scratch behind his ears, hitting the very spot that cued the low, happy rumble.

Orihime giggled. “You make some funny sounds, Grimmjow-sama.”

Grimmjow bristled and gritted his teeth sorely, almost  _ embarrassed _ at the fact that he’d been caught purring out loud.  _ If it had been anyone else… _ Orihime ran her fingers along his tensed shoulders and his smoldering thoughts of dismembering her were lost. She was always the exception to his predatory instincts. He hated it, but not enough to do something about it. One of her hands moved down to his chest, and lightly traced at the jagged scar that lined his torso. It had a rougher texture than the rest of his skin, but didn’t quite feel like a scar should.

“Does it hurt?” she asked absently, feeling idly along the edges of it. Grimmjow glanced up at her face, half-expecting her to blurt out that she was kidding. There was no sign of amusement in her expression.

“It’s a fucking scar,” he replied matter-of-factly, batting her hand away. A scar was a scar, and it caused him no physical pain. The hurt was in his ego, his pride, in the fact that the person who gave him that brand still walked the earth. The endless animosity he held for Kurosaki Ichigo - that bratty, loudmouthed human to whom Orihime’s heart hopelessly belonged - broiled in his gut. Deep inside, somewhere, Grimmjow may have felt a pang of jealousy. He would never admit it, though, and would thoroughly maim anyone who would even insinuate that he held such petty feelings.

“I could heal it for you, if you’d like,” Orihime offered. As she started to pull her hand away from him, he grabbed her wrist.

“No.”

“W-why not?” Orihime swallowed thickly. “It’s a little, you know, unsightly, and you don’t seem to like it very much…”

“Just shut up, woman.” She obliged, abruptly closing her mouth. “It’s a fucking battle scar, and I’ll wear it proudly.” Orihime settled into quiet reverie again following Grimmjow’s increasingly spiky attitude. The scar wasn’t  _ that _ unsightly. If he liked it enough to keep it, then she would like it as well. He slowly released her wrist, and she returned her hands to his mane. Closing his eyes, he basked once again in the calm silence. There were only a few moments of peace before she began to idly braid a section of his hair, and the indignation rose within. He quelled it, reminding himself that any moment Orihime was not asking a question was a moment to be thankful for. He would make sure she unbraided his hair before he left. The last thing he needed was to be questioned about it.

“Grimmjow-sama?”

“What?” His response was rife with annoyance. Orihime paused thoughtfully, choosing her next words carefully.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“ _ Kissed? _ ” Grimmjow hissed, looking up at Orihime with utter repugnance. “You mean that messy shit human’s do with their mouths? Fuck no. Why the hell would I do some shit like that?”

“It’s not messy. It’s kind of nice, actually.” Orihime smiled with a slight sadness, staring off at nothing in particular. Maybe reveling in a bittersweet memory of someone else kissing her. Grimmjow thought about it for a moment, and couldn’t for the life of him figure out how an act so repulsive-looking could be anything near “nice.” Mouths were meant for eating, for biting, for tearing flesh from the bone. Not for fondling another mouth.

“Whatever you say, woman.” Grimmjow let out an exasperated sigh and folded his hands over his stomach. Orihime bit her lip.

“Would you mind if I… could I show you, Grimmjow-sama?” she offered shyly, blushing. “I would like to kiss you… i-if you don’t mind.”

Grimmjow’s initial reaction was to tell her to go fuck herself, and then slap her around for good measure. Something inside hindered the reflex, and he found himself shrugging and grunting out a haughty “tch, whatever.” He found himself not fully against the idea. If it was as gross as he thought it would be, he could just cuff the bitch and be done with it. Orihime took the initiative. Fiery locks framed his face and shoulders as she leaned over him, and gently touched her lips to his.

It was soft, her mouth, and she wasn’t slobbering all over his face as he wrongly expected. He felt her lips purse gently against his, and much to his own surprise, he found himself willingly returning the gesture. Maybe this kissing thing wasn’t so bad after all. His hand reached up to cup her face, hungry for more of her sweet, supple lips. They were as soft and careful as the rest of her personality, and kissing them seemed to warm something inside of him. The panther purred, and the void in the pit of his stomach seemed to ease.

 

* * *

 

“You seem to be visiting that woman quite a bit, Grimmjow.”

“Shut yer face, Ulquiorra.” He stalked past the fourth espada, glaring daggers. Orihime’s chamber was just up the hall, and Ulquiorra had just fed her. As much as he enjoyed raining on Grimmjow’s parade, he had far more important things to do, and he didn’t give enough of a shit about Grimmjow or Orihime to stick around and spy. As long as Orihime stayed somewhat alive and in one piece, she remained a valuable asset, but Ulquiorra couldn’t be bothered to consider anything past that.

“May I ask what your newfound fascination with the woman is?”

Grimmjow stopped for a moment to ponder the question. He stared blankly at Ulquiorra as an elaborate, well-worded answer formed somewhere in the back of his brain.

“Blow me, asshole.”

If Ulquiorra, or any of the other espada, or worse yet Aizen, actually found out about his reason… well, he couldn’t even imagine what would happen to him. But it wasn’t important right now. What was important was making sure that his trysts remained secret. Eventually he would be found out, but he would worry about it when the time came.

Utterly disinterested in arguing, Ulquiorra turned to leave. Grimmjow waited until he was out of sight to make his way to the sanctuary. It was the place where the darkness seemed a little less heavy, and the void, a little less empty.


End file.
